


Dinner Triptych

by 19thjester



Series: Sam/Al [1]
Category: Quantum Leap
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-22
Updated: 2016-10-22
Packaged: 2018-08-23 22:20:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8344951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/19thjester/pseuds/19thjester
Summary: Three different dinners, three different feelings, but the same two men. Chapter I deals with Sam and Al meeting, II with the day before Sam Leaps, and III with Sam's birthday.





	1. April 19, 1975

The young man in his early twenties took off his white coat and draped it over one arm. He looked around the spartan apartment, not sure what to do.

Then a voice drifted out of the kitchen, still exhausted from the process of recovering after traveling thousands of miles home from war: “Dr. Beckett? Is that you?”

The young man looked around the apartment, eyes wide. “Yes, your door was open… where can I put my coat?”

“Anywhere.”

After some hesitation, the young man draped the coat over the arm of the couch and walked towards the kitchen. The man he’d met a few days earlier, Lieutenant Commander Calavicci, who had insisted on being called Al, was standing in front of the small stove, stirring in a tall pot with a wooden spoon. The smells of oregano and garlic drifted through the kitchen.

“Hello… Al?”

“Oh hey,” Al turned to look at him and smiled. “I can’t keep calling you Dr. Beckett, can I?”

“No, sorry. Uh, you can call me Sam, just not at Bethesda.”

“Sam. Well. Doesn’t this smell fantastic?”

“Yeah, it really does.” Sam leaned in to smell the sauce and his stomach growled.

“Better than what you have at home, right? Go on, sit on the couch. I’ll bring you some wine.”

Sam perched on the tan secondhand couch. Hard to believe he’d met Al only a few days earlier. His supervisor had taken him through various wards of Bethesda on a tour, and they’d gone through the one for the prisoners of war recently arrived from Vietnam.

“I thought the war ended two years ago?” Sam had asked his supervisor.

“Well, yes, but they were hanging onto some prisoners of war. They finally shipped some more home to us, and we’re dealing with them. Want to say hello?”

The two of them walked down the ward. Most of the men in white hospital pajamas Sam passed had dead eyes and simply lay in their beds, staring up at the ceiling. But there was one man there who was sitting up in bed, cross-legged, his eyes shining with a fierceness. 

“Beth,” this man said when he saw Sam and his supervisor. “Have you gotten a hold of her yet?”

“We’re working on that,” Sam’s supervisor said, and immediately led Sam out of the ward.

After they left, Sam asked, “What’s the deal with that man? Who’s Beth?”

“That’s Lieutenant Commander Calavicci. Very decorated man, and the Navy doesn’t want to take any risks by upsetting him. Beth is his wife. Ex-wife, rather, since she had him declared dead then remarried a few years back. He keeps asking for her, but we’re waiting for the right time.”

Sam nodded, but the whole situation didn’t feel right to him. Didn’t this man have a right to know, no matter what the Navy thought?

The next day, when he had a break, Sam ducked into the POW ward. It looked the same as yesterday, complete with the lone sailor sitting upright in bed. The sole nurse at duty was at the desk, so Sam gave her his best harmless “I’m just an innocent resident taking a look” smile then went down to the end.

Lieutenant Commander Calavicci’s dark curls were a wild mess, but his face was as alert as it’d been yesterday. Sam darted a look back at the nurse to make sure she was still distracted by the patients at the other end, then he said, “Lieutenant Commander?”

The older man squinted at him. “Aren’t you that kid who was in here yesterday?”

“Yes. Listen… I know what happened to your wife. Ex-wife, really.”

“She’s not my ex-wife,” the sailor growled, his eyes slits. “What’s going on?”

“The Navy doesn’t want you to be upset, but…” Sam hesitated. “I don’t know if I should be telling you this, but I felt you had a right to know.”

Calavicci took a deep breath, his back ramrod straight. “What is it? Is she dead?”

“No. Remarried.”

At this, Calavicci collapsed. He bent forward and buried his face in his hands. He was so quiet that it took Sam several moments to realize that this highly-decorated sailor was sobbing.

Sam sat next to him on the bed and put an arm around his shoulders. He sat like that until Calavicci’s sobs subsided, then the older man looked up at him. “Why are you doing this for me?”

“I want to help you and other people too. That’s why I became a doctor.”

For the first time since they’d met, Calavicci smiled. “You’d do a damn sight better than those nozzles around here.”

“Yeah… I wish I could help you better. My mom said the best thing for grief was food, but I’m not good at cooking at all but maybe I could make you an apple pie or something-”

Calavicci interrupted him with a clap to Sam’s shoulder. He was sitting next to Sam now, their legs parallel to each other over the side of the bed. “Kid. It’s okay, really.”

“-but I don’t remember how and I don’t want to ask her for the recipe since she’s still upset over my brother and dad dying and besides, the only thing I use the oven in my apartment for is making dinner from the freezer. I don’t even have measuring cups!”

This got a laugh out of Calavicci. “When was the last time you had a home-cooked dinner, huh, kid?”

Sam had to pause and think. “I don’t remember. Maybe when I was sixteen, seventeen? It’s been a while.”

“Tell you what. The Navy’s gonna send me to an apartment in the area soon, then I’m getting my shit from storage, including all my pots and pans and stuff like that. I’ll make you something my dad taught me how to make, a long time ago.”

“Really? But why?”

“You did me a favor.” Calavicci sighed. “I don’t know what I’m going to do about Beth yet, but I appreciate you telling me now instead of some asshole shrink later on, right when I’m about to go home.”

“It’s not a problem. Um… I guess you could track me down when you’re about to leave, Lieutenant Commander?”

“Call me Al, okay? You’re not one of my men.”

“...okay. Al. See you later.”

Then Sam had departed the ward, leaving Al to sit on his bed and think.

True to his word, Al had left his address in a folded note for Sam upon leaving the hospital and now Sam found himself sitting here, in Al’s apartment.

Al returned with two glasses of red wine and handed Sam one. “Here you go, Sam. The meatballs are sitting in the gravy now and I’ve got the spaghetti going in another pot. Should be done in a few minutes. You are old enough to drink, right?”

“Yes.” Sam took one of the glasses and had a cautious sip. “Since last August.”

Al squinted at him. “ _Twenty-one_ and already a resident? How’d you do that?”

“I finished my bachelor’s at eighteen, then medical school by twenty. I’m working on my residency now but one of my old professors wants me to go back and get my doctorate. I do miss physics. But I also like working with people as a doctor.”

Al studied the young man sitting in front of him. “Sorry if this is a bit much, but when did your dad die?”

Sam’s eyebrows contracted. “...I mentioned that?”

“A few days ago, yeah, when you visited me. Listen, Sam, it’s okay. My dad died when I was really young too, so I get it.”

Sam rubbed at one of his eyes. “Last spring.”

Al’s eyes went to the floor as he sighed. He put his glass of wine down on the scarred wooden coffee table then returned with two plates and forks. 

“You don’t have a table?” Sam asked. He hadn’t seen much in the apartment, come to think of it… just this couch and the coffee table in the small living room.

Al pointed to the coffee table. “This place is temporary, anyway.” He gave one plate to Sam then balanced the other on his knees after sitting down.

Sam concentrated on the food, trying not to wolf it down. Meatballs in a tomato sauce spiced with garlic, basil and oregano were ladled over spaghetti. While it wasn’t quite the same as his mother’s cooking, it was still very good.

Al smiled at Sam. “Beats the hell out of your TV dinners, huh?”

Sam nodded. “Thank you… Al. What will you do now?”

Al shrugged. “The Navy’s talkin’ about sending me to NASA, going on a few missions. The shrink at the hospital thinks I need some rest, so I’m not sure how long it’ll be before I go off to Texas or maybe it's Florida. God, I’ve really missed Florida. And what about you, kid? How long are you on this residency for?”

“This one is three years. I was thinking I’d look at other schools in the area, maybe for physics or music or something. I’m not sure yet.”

“Music? You play music too?”

“I practiced the piano a lot in undergrad and I got invited to play Carnegie when I was nineteen.”

Al shook his head, laughing. “Really? You’re not jerking my leg? This random young doctor sitting next to me is also a piano genius?”

“No, I’m not joking.” Sam's eyes were wide and sincere. “One of my professors at MIT heard me practicing and submitted a recording of me playing for some contest they were doing, to showcase young gifted piano players. I got in and I played a piece. It was Christmas 1972.”

“You’re really going to go places one day, kid.”

Sam stared at his half-empty plate. “Really? Even if I’m not sure what I’m going to do?”

“You’ll figure it out. Everybody does.”

“I have an idea for something really big, but I’m not sure if it’ll work.”

The men finished their meal in silence. Then Al said, jabbing his fork at Sam, “This idea of yours, what is it?”

Sam looked at his feet, tapping on the worn shag carpet. “I don’t know if I should say.”

“Let’s go take a walk, all right?”

It was a cool spring evening in Maryland, fine conditions for a walk, so Al led Sam around the neighborhood. He pointed out some places that his Navy buddies frequented. Sam tried not to let the disapproval show on his face whenever Al talked about the size of the bazongas on the strippers inside some of those places.

They walked into an Italian deli, which had a gelato counter. Al said to Sam, “You like fruit, right?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Good. I once had a girlfriend who couldn’t stand fruit and I couldn’t understand it at all. Two lemon, please.”

The lemon gelato was far better than Sam expected.

Al grinned. “Never had anything like that before, huh? Just take your time with it.”

“No, I haven’t. Just regular ice cream.” Sam had to smile.

“I miss Rome. My dad once took me on a trip there when I was a kid. Gelato everywhere- heaven for an eight-year-old.”

Sam smiled. He could almost imagine Al as a little boy with all that curly hair. “You never got stationed there? Or anywhere in Europe?”

“I tried. But Japan, Cuba and Vietnam all needed pilots, so that’s what I got. So what’s this idea of yours, Sam?”

“Time travel.” Sam ducked his head. “I told you it was crazy.”

“Time travel? Isn’t that impossible?” Al squinted one eye at Sam.

“It’s something I worked on a bit when I was in undergrad. I’ve had the idea ever since I was a kid. Okay, imagine a string, yeah?” Sam made a gesture with his hands like he was pulling out a piece of string. “One end is your birth, the other is your death. If you tie one end to the other, so that it’s a loop…” here, Sam brought together the ends of the invisible string, “then crumple it up, you can go from point to point within your own lifetime.”

Al nodded sagely, taking this idea seriously. “And what would you do with time travel?”

“I’d like to be able to observe events in the past.”

“What if you could change things?”

“That’s dangerous.”

“Still an idea. If I could change anything through time travel, I’d get Beth to not leave me.” Al looked for a nearby trash can, then stuffed the cup into his jacket pocket when he didn’t see one. “Terrible, all this junk on the street. Why can’t they set up more trash cans?”

Sam didn’t say anything. He was quiet all the way back to the door of Al’s apartment. 

At the door, Al said, “Well, guess this is it.”

“Thank you, Al, for dinner.”

“Anytime, kid. If you need more, let me know.” Al’s dark eyes searched Sam’s face and drifted to the white streak in Sam’s hair. “Will you be all right?”

“Yeah, I will be.”

Then Al spontaneously grabbed Sam in a tight bear hug. Sam’s eyes widened, but he hugged Al back. 

“Take care, okay? Oh wait! Do you have a phone number or something?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Come on…” Al invited Sam inside then rummaged in a kitchen drawer. He found a piece of paper and thrust it, along with a pen, at Sam. “I need your address and phone number. I’ll get in touch when I get the go-ahead for Florida.”

Sam set the paper on the kitchen counter then wrote them down for Al. “And to invite me to one of those clubs you were pointing out, right?”

“Sure, why not? You need a break from being a doctor once in a while, don’t ya?”

Sam’s cheeks turned pink. “I… guess so?”

“Great! It’s a plan! I need to track down my buddies in the area, then I’ll call soon.”

As Sam left, part of him hoped that Al would never get around to calling to invite him to a strip club. Another part of him hoped that Al would call before he left for Florida.

Al was from the same military branch as his brother, but he’d actually made it out of Vietnam alive. And he’d lost two loved ones, like Sam had, and one recently at that. Sam decided that he liked Al.


	2. May 9, 1995

Sam slammed the phone into its receiver on the wall. “I can’t believe it!”

Al peeked around the corner from the kitchen, where he’d just shoved a pizza into the oven. “What is it?”

“I know it’s been five, six years, but don’t they understand that progress takes time?”

Al watched Sam as he paced around their house in Stallion’s Gate, New Mexico, not saying anything, while Sam ran his hands through his hair as he paced, almost blending his white streak in with the rest of his hair.

“I don’t want to take any major risks. What if we send someone into the Accelerator Chamber and he never gets out? What will they say then?”

Al sighed. “Come here, Sammy.” 

Sam kept talking to himself, almost stomping around the first floor now, muttering about how the higher-ups on the Commission didn’t understand, about how this was totally new territory and they needed to be absolutely sure before they could really do anything.

“Sam. Come here.” There was an edge of military in Al’s voice now.

Sam continued his stomping pace, now talking about how he wanted to throw the entire Commission into the Acceleration Chamber and hit the button. “With some luck, they’ll end up in the year ten thousand BCE-”

Al’s hands clamped around Sam’s shoulders and marched him to the couch. “Shut up, Sam Beckett.” 

Sam sighed and his head slumped back so far that he was almost looking up at Al. 

Al’s fingers kneaded Sam’s shoulders. “Let me get all this tension of yours out, then I can feed you some pizza. Then we can talk about it.” His fingers concentrated on the knots in Sam’s shoulders, working them out.

Most of the knots had been dissolved when Sam jumped up. “No, that’s not it at all!”

Al watched Sam with concerned eyes. He’d known Sam for just over twenty years at this point, and he knew what this man was like once he had a hold of something and wouldn’t let go. Al patiently watched as Sam paced himself into a tighter and tighter circle until he collapsed onto the floor and curled up in a tight ball.

The oven dinged. After a few minutes, Al returned with a paper plate with two slices of pepperoni on it, plus a glass of light beer. “Sam. Let’s eat.”

Sam shot a dirty look at Al.

Al waited, the picture of patience that had been sharpened from within a tiger cage. “I know something’s on my boyfriend’s mind. I also know the best way for him to resolve whatever is on his mind is to get it out in the open. What’s going on, Sam? What did they say?”

He’d finally hit on the right keywords. Sam sighed, unwound himself from the floor, took his dinner from Al and sat down at their small dining table. Al sat across from him with his own plate of pizza and a glass of water, then he stretched out his hands, palms down, in front of Sam. 

Sam took the cue and laid his hands on top of Al’s. Then he said, “They want to pull our funding. I told them that we’ve made great progress over the last few years, but our retrieval program isn’t ready yet.” His forest green eyes were troubled

“What do they want you to do?”

“They want me to prove my findings. They want results. But how can I do that? The retrieval program’s not ready yet. What if I did leap, Al?”

Al’s dark brown eyes looked away, not wanting to meet Sam’s. “Then what would we do? What if your retrieval program didn’t work?”

Sam moved his hands away and took a sip of his beer. “Keep working on it while I’m away. You can do that, right?”

“It’s a lot to take on, Sam. And you’re lightyears ahead of the rest of us… I think you’re the only one on the Project who really understands the code in that program.” Al took a small bite of his slice as he watched Sam attack his pizza slices with large, tearing bites. “Have you thought this through, Sam?”

“What do you mean? I’m sure things will be fine.”

Al twisted his gold Annapolis ring. “What if we can’t bring you home? What if the retrieval program fails?”

Sam put down his slice to look at Al. “You know that I’ve been working towards this for over twenty years, that I was thinking about this even before we met.” He rested his chin in his hands. “If I can’t prove anything, then they’ll take away our funding.”

“Right, you can tell them that this project won’t work out. I forgot how you say that in academia-speak-”

“You want me to tell them that it isn’t viable. Al!” Sam pounded his fist on the table so hard it made his plate jump and Al flinch. “I can’t do that! I’ve got a reputation on the line here. The media is watching to see what ‘the next Einstein’ will do next after years in isolation, and I have an idea I need to prove after years and years of working on it.”

Al put his ring down on the table, then he started fiddling with his pizza crust. “Okay, how about this, Sam? You declare the whole thing non-viable, then I wrap things up with the Navy, then we can move somewhere, far from here, and be more open about things.”

“To where? San Francisco?” Sam shook his head in disgust.

“That’s not a bad idea, actually. Tech is starting to pick up there. You could take Ziggy there, shop her around to someone. We wouldn’t need that bucket of bolts after-”

“I am not running away with you and selling Ziggy.” Sam picked up his empty plate and glass and Al heard him drop them in the sink. Then Sam returned and planted his hands directly in front of Al on the table. “Listen, and listen well, Albert Calavicci: I am not giving up on this project for anything. I wouldn’t give it up even if my ex-fiancee walked through that door and told me to stop. I wouldn’t even give it up if my brother rose from the dead and told me not to. So you can forget trying to talk me out of this.”

Sam turned to leave, and Al caught him by the sleeve of his blue sport shirt. “Please wait, Sam. I’ve got some connections in the Navy. Those guys who nominated me for my stars- I can call ‘em up, beg them for another extension so you can finish your damn program and then actually execute the leap. I don’t want you leaping out into the unknown.” Al didn’t want Sam to leave him behind, but he couldn’t bring himself to say that.

For once, Sam actually hesitated, and turned to look back at him. “You’d do that, Al? For me?”

“Sure! Sammy, hold on. There’s this big benefit dinner tomorrow night. I’ll be seeing some of the guys then, and I can talk to them about it. It’ll all be okay, Sam. Please promise me you won’t do anything?”

“I can’t guarantee anything. Come here.” Sam pulled Al close to him in a hug. “You know I love you, right?”

“I do,” Al murmured. Even if the Navy couldn’t know it, he loved Sam and Sam loved him. That was one of the few constants he’d had over the last ten years.

Sam let Al go, then he gave him a long look. He ran a hand slowly through Al’s hair before he said, “I need to go for a walk, clear my head.”

“Sure thing, Sam.” Al watched as Sam walked away from him, out the door and down the street.


	3. August 8, 2003

Sam walked down the stairs in their house, leaning against the wall as he made his way down.

Al was peering through reading glasses at a notebook and tapping a pen on the table. Sam made his way over, making the thump of his forearm crutches as quiet as possible, then he said, “Good morning, dear. Thank you for breakfast.”

Al gasped and nearly fell over, a hand to his chest. “Don’t do that to me, Sam!”

“Why not? You did that to me so often over all those years while I was out on Leaps. The last year without that kind of crap from you has been incredible, in more ways than one.” Sam kissed Al on the cheek. Then he smirked as he made his way to the chair next to Al’s and sat down, innocently resting his chin in his hands. “Revenge is sweet. What are you writing now?”

“You were in your forties. I am not.” Al picked up the notebook and squinted at it. His hair was iron-gray now, but Sam’s had managed to stay brown for the time being.

Sam looked over Al’s shoulder. “Dinner ideas? We like fried chicken- let’s go with that.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be in bed? I thought you took today off from work.”

“I did. What do you want to do today?”

Al tapped his pen against the notebook. “You know what… I heard about this new place, they’ve got fried chicken. And karaoke.” He had to smile as Sam’s eyes lit up. “I knew you’d like that.”

***

The new place was great, with old school rock and roll blasting everywhere, and the fried chicken was top notch. Sam insisted on trying to steal some of Al’s mashed potatoes, which Al traded away for some of the chicken from Sam’s plate.

But what got Sam the most psyched up was the karaoke machine. That was how Al found himself sitting in a chair closest to the stage, as his boyfriend sang his heart out. His physical therapist had suggested earlier that Sam try not to use the crutches so much those days, so Sam was now leaning on one crutch as he sang. Al was sure Sam didn’t even need to look at the machine for half these songs, since so many of them were old favorites, mostly Al’s.

As Sam finished each song, people cheered him on. Every time he tried to get off the stage, someone would be there, shouting another song request at him. Sam gave Al a sheepish and apologetic look every time, but Al waved his hand in a “it’s okay, Sam, go on,” gesture. Al loved hearing Sam sing and it was great to be here in a place full of people who felt the same way.

A new song came up. Sam shouted, “Come up here!” and waved at Al.

Al pointed at himself in a who-me? gesture, his bushy eyebrows high up.

“Yes, you, ya goof! Get up here!” Sam leaned heavily on his crutch as he waved for Al to come on stage, which had Al a little worried.

Al left their table, to the sounds of the people around him clapping. When he got up onto the stage, Sam’s free arm went around his shoulders. Al’s arm went around his waist, to support him.

“This is my partner for life, you guys, and for him, I’m singing Together in Electric Dreams.” Sam shifted on the stage, adjusting his crutch, then he started singing, “I only knew you for a while…”

Al wanted to protest that he didn’t want Sam to sing a song for him. That was way too mushy! But it was Sam’s birthday and they were on stage together in front of all these people in a scenario that would have made the Navy dishonorably discharge him if he hadn’t already been retired years before, so Al let it go.

Sam was still singing. “...We’ll always be together / Together in electric dreams / Because of the friendship that you gave / Has taught me to be brave…”

Al had to smile at these lyrics. He and Sam had taught each other bravery through their friendship, hadn’t they? Al had given Sam the courage to even tackle Project Quantum Leap and Sam had given Al the courage to truly be himself.

Sam finished singing, and there was a round of applause. Sam and Al waved to their fans, then they walked down from the stage, Al helping Sam get down the steps without tripping.

Sam got into his chair with more of a fall and a thump than a graceful descend, but he made it. Al said, “You all right there, Sammy?”

“Never been any better, Al.” 

Al squeezed Sam’s hand. “Hey, happy fiftieth birthday. Did you have a great day?”

“I sure did. Thank you, Al.” 

“Not a problem. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

The pair left later on, holding hands.


End file.
